Crossroads
by J. Froste
Summary: "If you want to save her, first you have to save yourself." Growing up has its own set of tests and trials, as the Asano siblings come to discover. In-Progress; Multi-genre; Eventually AU
1. Prologue: Family Values

**Disclaimer**: Bleach, its concepts and characters and everything involved, is not mine. Durr.

**Title**: Crossroads

**Rating**: M/Mature (Not exactly suitable for kids)

**Summary**: "If you want to save her, first you have to save yourself." Growing up has its own set of tests and trials, as the Asano siblings come to discover.

**Characters**: Keigo, Mizuho; appearances from pretty much EVERYBODY at some point.

**Pairing(s)**: Implied and/or unrequited Keigo/Tatsuki; Ikkaku/Mizuho. More or less. Any pairings that may show up should be considered 'potential', as I kind of suck at romantic junk and I'm not generally in the habit of hooking canon characters up with one another (unless they're OCs).

**Warnings**: Potential SLASH, or FEMSLASH (thanks, Chizuru). Violence, foul language and mature themes not suitable for the poor, poor chilluns. :( Potential OOC characters. Use of OCs in the way of random Asano family members (like the mysterious parental units, aunts, cousins, etc.)

**Extra warnings**: I know some people have an issue with the _**anime filler**_ episodes, so I might as well add this in. I myself, do not have a problem with them; while I don't consider them to be canon, I may draw on them as reference for details later on in this story. (I won't include everything, however, because some stuff really doesn't add up/I haven't seen them all. But whatever. This is going to become an AU at some point anyway, so whee!)

Further: This is my first Bleach fanfic, ever. And I have no beta reader. Please forgive any aforementioned OOC-ness and spelling errors. (But if you see any instances of junk spelled like crap, or if you have any suggestions/helpful criticisms to improve my writing/characterization, let me know. I'm open to that, provided it's not useless "omfg ur an idiot an a tard!11one die fgt" flames because, well... pfft.)

**Important Note:** This chapter takes place sometime in the middle of the Arrancar Arrival arc, so _**after**_ Keigo met Ikkaku (and took him home), but _**before**_ the whole "Fake Karakura" thing with Aizen.

* * *

**Prologue: Family Values**

Keigo groaned inwardly and squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed an eternity had passed between the moment Ōshima's clenched fist released his collar and the next, when the dull thump of his shoulder signalled the beginning of an achy night. He kept his eyes determinedly closed for the initial streak of pain but, in an act of increasingly vicious defiance to tradition, chose to growl at the invading hand as it closed on his bicep.

The owner of that hand – Ōshima's friend, if jerks like that had any – paused. "Oi." An edge of uneasiness crept into his voice, and Keigo fixed with him a withering glare. Then he fixed the guy's hand with the same, before looking back into his face. He growled again for good measure. "Th'fuck are you lookin' at like that for?"

"Eh?" Ōshima's face appeared over the other guy's shoulder. It darkened considerably, and he reached around to snag the front of Keigo's shirt and drag him forward. "I don't want ya lookin' at me like that. Me or my friend. S'at about, huh?" He shook the smaller boy for emphasis. "Punk!"

Keigo kicked him.

A while later, the happy jingle of a cell phone brought the brunet out of his stupor. He glanced slowly from side to side, taking in the empty alley, his scattered schoolwork, tattered satchel, and... ah. There.

"Neechan," Keigo muttered into the phone in greeting. He didn't bother getting up.

Mizuho's initial breath had been a deep one, but it cut off suddenly. "Keigo," she said after a lengthy pause, her voice lowering. "Where the hell are you?"

"Mn, a coupl'a blocks from home."

She was quiet again for a short time. Keigo waited.

"Mom said she'll reheat your dinner," Mizuho said finally. "Dad and I will come get you."

"Sure."

She huffed. "You sound like shit, Keigo."

"Hmnm," he agreed. "I bet I look it."

In the end, it was decided that Keigo looked _worse_ than shit. It took a little while to get him into the car; he vomited once on his father's shirt, and then again on the upholstery. By the time they reached Karakura General the smell had become so powerful that Keigo's father had ordered all windows be rolled down.

"I will accompany your brother inside," their father announced, and Keigo didn't need to look at his face to know that it was severe. "In the meantime, get this mess cleaned up."

For a moment he actually was glad that he didn't have the energy required to stand on his own, because that meant he would have had the energy to be embarrassed. So Keigo simply allowed his head to hang as his father's grip shifted on his waist before they began the slow half-march into the hospital.

"Oooh, ouch," somebody muttered in passing.

Keigo's father grumbled something unintelligible in response before hauling the teen around and plopping him down in a chair. Keigo tried to ignore the bright flush in his cheeks that grew when, in the next moment, his father made a half-turn and hollered, "Nurse!"

Quick feet approached, followed by a woman's scolding tone. "Masaru-san, you have been told many times now that there is no shouting in the—oh. Oh, dear."

Cool hands tilted his head up, and Keigo found himself looking at the nurse. He didn't have time to wonder whether it was the same nurse as his last visit before his suspicions were confirmed. She sighed, a deep, weary sound. "Again?" He averted his eyes, and she turned to his father – Masaru. "I'll arrange for a wheelchair, and notify the doctor."

"Of course."

Keigo knew he was in deep shit. He shouldn't have kicked Ōshima; he knew that doing so was tantamount to stomping on a lion's tail. His father's silence was enough of an indicator that he was going to get the lecture of a lifetime, particularly because he could feel waves of fury washing off the man. The slight tremor in his hands was worrisome, and the way he loomed over Keigo like some terrible black mountain of doom made him want to puke again.

He knew they only had limited insurance. And he knew that they weren't finished paying for his medical bills from the car accident. The car repairs weren't paid off yet, either. Keigo's uncle was in financial trouble. His grandmother was sick. Money they didn't need to waste frivolously was now being wasted on Keigo's own stupidity.

All because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut and his feet to himself.

His eyes stung just a bit as the nurse returned with a wheelchair, and his father helped him into it. He bit his tongue against the whimper he wanted to release at the grinding he felt in his hip, squeezed the armrests until his knuckles turned white as he was wheeled down to the examination room.

"Keigo-san," the nurse said suddenly. "Are you all right?"

_No._ "Aa."

His father chose that moment to stuff a cloth forcefully against his face. Keigo's response was a weak protest, which came off rather like a grunt and squeal combined. His father scowled imperiously at him. Keigo could see his right eyebrow twitching.

"Boy," he said in a low voice. He coughed, frowned more deeply. "You are going to ruin your school uniform if you allow your nose to keep bleeding all over it."

_You've already cost me a fortune,_ Keigo translated darkly. He reached up, closing his hand over the cloth and pressing it to his nose more firmly. His father coughed again.

He didn't think his night could get any worse.

"Asano-san," a cold voice greeted as Masaru thrust his son through the examination room's door. Ishida Ryūken – clipboard in hand – fixed the teen with an unreadable look, before gesturing vaguely to his father.

"Let's proceed, shall we?"

* * *

"This is the third time you've come to my hospital, Keigo-san," Ishida's father calmly stated. He thumbed through a devilishly innocent-looking stack of papers, glasses flashing every now and then. It made Keigo want to hit him. He hated not being able to see people's eyes.

"Yeah."

"Each time, you've come bearing worse injuries than the last," the doctor continued. "You've also managed to aggravate most of those you obtained in the collision. Thankfully for you, the hip fracture is merely inflamed – your father tells me this is due to your part-time job?"

Keigo tapped his fingers nervously. "I guess? I dunno."

Ryūken raised a delicate eyebrow. "You handle the animals at Karakura's shelter. I was told you also assist with training the adoptable candidates."

A huff. "I'm a glorified dog-walker. So?"

It might have been a trick of the light, but Keigo thought the doctor smiled. Just a little. The effect was ruined by his glasses flashing again, though. "Nothing. I simply want to insure that you aren't trying to overdo it."

"Oh."

Pushing his glasses up further on his nose, the man flipped through a few more pages. Then, he set aside the clipboard and faced Keigo fully. "I realize that this will be a difficult question for you, but quite frankly, I have had enough."

The sharpness of his tone brought Keigo out of the brief lull he'd managed to crawl into, and he fixed the older man with an anxious look. Ryūken's eyes were hard, his face now like stone.

"Who is the one assaulting you?"

"..."

"It has come to the point where I am of a mind to involve the police," Ryūken told him, narrowing his eyes. Keigo gulped. "I have recommendations to give your father to assist in dealing with this, as you obviously haven't told him who your assailant is either."

A long period of silence passed, before Ryūken broke it once more. "Asano Keigo, you arrived here with a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. You are covered with bruises and lacerations – some of which had become infected, requiring antibiotics. Do you know how much gravel I picked out of your scalp? Your wrist is sprained. You may have to go through therapy for your hip. Again."

He leaned back in his chair, eyeing Keigo closely.

"You understand my concern."

It took a few minutes of silence before Ryūken realized that Keigo was crying.

* * *

The ride home was, to say the least, uncomfortable. Doctor Ishida had tended to Keigo's injuries to the best of his ability, with instructions on how to best redress the lacerations requiring stitches. Throughout the ordeal, Masaru's face had grown a shade darker and his nostrils had begun to flare.

Mizuho's return – a thunderclap in an otherwise peaceful lobby, which drew the first real smile out of Keigo since his encounter with Ōshima earlier that night – was a welcome distraction from his father's grimace. It helped that she'd brought them both clean clothes, and Ryūken had taken Masaru's sudden departure to change in stride (he still had his offspring's vomit on his shirt, after all), imparting the same treatment information to the girl as he had given to their father.

Keigo didn't really mind that the ass of his pants were soaked through by the time they got home. The car upholstery was clean now, and it didn't smell like puke, and nobody brought up that he'd hurled in the car at all so he managed to avoid that embarrassment. Besides, he was feeling a bit loopy from all the drugs, so it was a wonder he even noticed that his pants were wet.

He was a bit startled to find a sleeping bag on his bedroom floor, though, when he stumbled into the room after enduring his mother's fussing. "No jerking off for you tonight," Mizuho hissed under her breath, winking. Keigo's face flushed.

"Neechan, you're gross!"

"Girl," Masaru shouted – unnecessarily loud for three in the morning. "Put your brother to bed. Now!"

"Yes, Father," Mizuho called back.

"And make sure he sleeps!" he bellowed again.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm serious! I won't have the two of you up all night, giggling and talking about boys, or-or whatever it is young people do at night!" Masaru continued to bellow. "Ishida-san insisted upon rest, so you best make sure your brother does just that!"

Keigo looked appalled. "_Boys?_"

"What boys?" Mizuho yelled. "And if you don't stop hollering, he'll never get to sleep!"

Masaru grunted something rude, and just before their parents' bedroom door shut with a slam, both teens thought they heard the distinctive twitter of their mother's amused laugh beneath his muttered curses.

Rolling her eyes, Mizuho turned back to Keigo. "I guess we could talk about boys," she offered wryly.

"Ew." Keigo made a face. "No, thanks."

"Suit yourself." She settled herself down into the sleeping bag, half-watching her brother as he watched her drowsily. "If you need anything, throw a pillow at me."

"If I did that, you might finish me off."

"Yup."

Keigo reached over, tapping her arm. His sister sighed, smiling a little bit sadly as she hooked her pinky finger around his. "Thanks, neechan."

"Anytime. See you at breakfast."

* * *

Breakfast, to Keigo's surprise, was not a sombre affair. His mother fussed over him, examined his outward injuries (again), and were it not for his father's timely interference the teenager would likely have found himself stripped naked and facing a terrible foe: his mom's crying face. And possibly, her temper.

He still hadn't figured out which of the two was worse.

"I'm going to call the school today," his mother informed them as she placed the last plate down on the table. "Mizuho will pick up any homework you miss, dear. Stay home and rest."

"Wife," Masaru grunted, his mouth full of bacon, "Don't coddle the boy."

"You were the one to suggest he stay home, love." She cocked an eyebrow as he sputtered, bacon bits clinging to the corner of his mouth. Keigo couldn't help but to stare, morbidly fascinated by the display.

"What is said in the bedroom stays there, woman!"

Mizuho made a gagging noise.

Keigo tore his eyes from his father's bacon-adorned mouth to look down at his toast with an unfathomable look. He shoved a piece into his mouth before he could laugh. Or say something really stupid.

"Oh!" said his mother suddenly with a snap of her fingers. "Speaking of which..." Mizuho snorted loudly into her orange juice at the look on Masaru's face. "I simply forgot – well, with all that happened yesterday, it slipped my mind. My dear," she looked at her husband and smiled winningly. "We are going to have a baby!"

Silence.

"You guys _still_ have sex?"

Keigo shut his eyes, mouth twitching wildly as his sister's incredulous voice broke through that deafening silence. "Oh, my God. _Neechan!_"

Masaru looked offended. "Well that certainly isn't any of _your_ business," he told her. Then he turned to his wife. "Kazue, this is true?"

Kazue clapped, delighted. "Oh, yes! Do you remember the work party we attended?"

"Too much information!" Keigo broke in, before his father could respond. It was a last-ditch, frantic effort to avoid hearing anything gross, because he was well aware of just how drunk the two of them had been when they arrived home that particular night. "No details! People are eating, here!"

"Hmm, I see," Masaru said, ignoring his son. "I thought you'd been getting rather fat."

"_DAD!_"

"Eat your bacon, before I do," he commanded them.

Mizuho scowled. "Is this really the time for bacon?" she demanded.

"Yes," her father replied shortly. "Get on with it!"

"But, mom just said she was going to have a baby!"

Masaru sniffed. "Does it look to you as though she's ready to pop it out upon the floor at any moment? No? _Eat_, girl."

Keigo's eyes flickered back and forth between his sister and father, before turning back to his toast. Then, almost as an afterthought – indeed, it may have been, except that he held his father's calculating stare evenly as he did – the teen speared three pieces of bacon with his fork and stuffed them into his mouth. Masaru harrumphed.

"_Mine_," Keigo muttered with a territorial squint.

"Not for long," his father shot back, under his breath.

Mizuho made a grand show of chewing on her bacon. "Bet you it's a girl," she announced importantly between swallows. There was no room to argue who she directed this statement to.

Keigo frowned at her. "We're betting on this?"

"Yep."

He shook his head. "Nah."

The sound of a fork clattering loudly reverberated through the room. Mizuho whirled to her feet, an accusing finger stabbing viciously at the spot between her brother's eyes. "You're too late! There's no reneging on a bet!"

"AM NOT! It probably _will_ be a girl."

Mizuho paused.

"But she's going to be gay, 'cause you're really manly. And insane. You corrupt the universe."

Keigo smirked as his sister's eyes narrowed into slits. "So it doesn't count, eh? Hmph," she said, plopping back down into her seat. She eyed him critically. "I guess that's why you're such a wuss, huh."

"Yes," said Keigo, his voice devoid of any inflection.

Mizuho sneered. "And here I've been slipping detergent into your food when I didn't need t- H-HEY! DAD!"

Masaru's eyes held an unholy glint as his arm slowly crept back across the table, his fork having successfully speared a few pieces of bacon from his daughter's plate. "I warned you, girl," he intoned in a low voice.

"I'll have you know that there will be none of that rude talk when the baby arrives." Kazue fixed both of her children with an appropriately stern look, waiting until they appeared sufficiently cowed before continuing. "The doctor estimates – ah, let me see – yes, that will be sometime in March? Yes. And we'll have to do a bit of rearranging, of course!"

"I'm not giving up my room," Mizuho said.

"And I'm not sharing," Keigo added.

Their mother smiled. "Certainly not. We do have a guest bedroom, after all, that would work quite nicely."

Frowning, Keigo stabbed his fork into the table a mere inch from his father's creeping fingers.

* * *

It came as no surprise to Keigo that Mizuiro didn't bother stopping by his house before meeting up with Ichigo, even though Keigo hadn't himself bothered to let his friend know that he wasn't going to school. What surprised him was finding the majority of his social circle on his doorstep during class roll call.

Ichigo's face was probably the most telling of their collective first impression; his perpetual frown disappeared under the onslaught of shock once he got a good look at his pajama-clad classmate. Seconds that seemed to last an eternity oozed by, until Keigo finally found his voice.

"Er."

"Wow," Inoue whispered, her eyes wide as saucers.

Mizuiro stared. "What happened to you?"

"_Who_ happened to you?" Arisawa muttered.

Sado ground his teeth from somewhere in the back.

Keigo kept his eyes on Ichigo simply because he really didn't want to know what sort of face Ishida was making, because they weren't much of friends except by proxy, but he wasn't entirely certain he liked the expression the taller teen was developing, either.

"Shouldn't... er... well, you're late," he said, lamely. "For school."

"Duh."

Shifting uncomfortably beneath Ichigo's stare – empowered by the stares of the others – Keigo added, "Nee-chan's picking up my, um, homework." _So you don't have any reason to be here. By the way, why __**are**__ you here?_

Ishida adjusted his glasses. Keigo only saw it because they flashed in the corner of his eye. He frowned a little, wondering if his dad was the type to rat to family, patient confidentiality be damned. Ryūken had been particularly insistent on finding out who kept beating the crap out of his patient lately. Plus, in Keigo's experience, those flashy-glasses guys who hide their eyes tended to be super sneaky.

"You broke Ōshima's crotch," Ichigo said abruptly into the silence, in a rather loud voice.

Keigo flinched. "Er."

"Karin saw him last night," he said, as the others murmured amongst themselves. Narrowing his eyes intensified the hard look he levelled Keigo with, eliciting the reaction he both expected and hoped for. The brunet kept his eyes turned down as far as he dared, opting to look at his friend's chin.

"Eh... yeah," Keigo finally sighed. What was the point? He never could hold up against the third degree, especially if it was Ichigo giving it to him. Or his mom.

Ichigo's impressively dangerous aura swelled briefly, before it snapped. His lips twitched upwards into that weird little smirk he only wore when he decided to stop trying hard to be cool and actually let his mischievous sense of humour through. It made him look less scary. "Good."

Looking up quickly, the brunet saw his best friend's face adjust itself to something a little more abashed. He blinked. "Good?" he repeated, cautiously.

"Yeah. Said he bugged Yuzu after school yesterday, before she got off practice. Apparently by then somebody else got to him first." He reached back to scratch the back of his head. "When you didn't show up with Mizuiro I figured he handed your ass to you again, but maybe you got in a good shot."

"Ah..." How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Was _Karin_ going to kick his ass now, too, for stealing her thunder?

Ichigo's little smirk became even more crooked. "I'll let Karin know, yeah? Yuzu likes you well enough, so we'll probably come by later to drop off one of her soups."

He turned a bit pink. "She doesn't have to-"

Ichigo snorted derisively. "Look, both of my sisters can't stand Ōshima. Difference is, Yuzu won't say a bad thing about anyone if she can help it, even if she hates the bastard's guts." When Keigo opened his mouth to interrupt Ichigo raised one imperious finger. "You know word's gonna get out anyway that _you_ broke his crotch. They'll find out. And if you refuse Yuzu's cooking you'll piss off Karin."

"I thought you liked her cooking," Mizuiro piped up.

"I do!"

"So you're not gonna say otherwise." Ichigo looked triumphant.

Well, that was true enough. He couldn't count how many times he'd gotten sick – or had his ass kicked – only to end up with Ichigo at his door bearing his little sister's home-cooked meals as a get well present. Keigo loved Yuzu's cooking. For a little girl – at least to him she was little, and it didn't help that she was physically diminutive – she was like a beast among chefs.

Finally, he smiled. A little tentative, but Ichigo seemed to accept it. "All right. Thanks."

"No problem."

_To be continued..._

* * *

_It is my personal feeling that I royally mangled Ishida's dad's characterization somehow, but I am so far removed from the character that I've no idea._

_Questions, comments, crits – I'd love to hear from you guys. And again, don't be afraid to point out errors, wherever they may roam._


	2. Be Like That

**Timeline Note:** Because I suck at keeping canon timelines together, I'm going to fudge a whole hell of a lot of stuff. Therefore you might notice a lot of smooshing of events and liberties being taken contrary to the canonical. Pls to be forgiving? Haha. (Approx. Time frame: somewhere during Chapter 226 of the manga, The Right-of the Heart.)

* * *

**Chapter One: Be Like That**

"No."

"_Yes_."

"_No_. I don't want it."

Mizuho scowled. "Does it look like I care what you want?"

Keigo folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing as he shot the dirtiest look he could muster into his sister's darkening face. Unfortunately, he did a piss-poor job of it, the end result making him out to be little more than a petulant child. "No."

"Quit being such a baby."

"I'm _not_."

"You _are!_"

Keigo rudely turned up his nose, "Nuh-uh."

A low, threatening growl rose in the girl's throat. "Keigo..." she warned.

"Don't wanna. You can't make me." The teen sniffed.

"That so?" Mizuho carefully pushed a glass of water towards him across the table, taking great pleasure in watching her brother's discomfort flicker across his face as the light scraping of glass against wood roared ominously in his ears. "Try me."

Keigo glared at her.

"I'm in charge when Mom and Dad are out, remember? What I say goes. And I say you're going to shut up, take that pill, stuff it in your mouth and _eat it_." Leaning back in her chair, the elder of the two pointed an imposing finger into his face. "Don't think I won't force it down your throat, little brother. 'Cause I will. Dad said I could."

"Your flair for the dramatic will win you an Oscar," Keigo told her flatly. "Bravo, neechan."

"You gonna eat it or not?"

Sighing, Keigo looked down to the tiny, deceptively innocent-looking pill from its place on one of their mother's tiny, fine china plates; dwarfed as it was by the sandwich his sister had made for him, he couldn't help but wonder just how the hell it could radiate that much evil. "But... _neechan_..." he whined.

"..._eat the fucking pill_, Keigo!" she bit out, teeth clenched.

Pouting, the teen grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. He chewed slowly, watching his sister from the corner of his eye and trying not to swallow until he absolutely had to. He waited until it started to taste and feel gross in his mouth, swallowed, and took another bite – Mizuho watched him the whole time, her patience thin as ice but determined.

There was no way Keigo could get out of it _this_ time!

"Th' hell'd you put in this sandwich, s'gross," he muttered darkly, just to spite her.

"Jockstrap sweat," she retorted, not to be outdone. "_Dad's_ jockstrap sweat."

"_Nrf?!_" Keigo froze mid-chew.

"Mmm-mmm! That pill's lookin' pretty good now, isn't it?"

"No," he said, but despite his tone he snorted. He exhaled roughly through his nose, pinched the pill between his fingers and threw it into his mouth with a grimace. Once finished washing it down, Keigo turned to see his sister's triumphant face beaming at him. He frowned. "I hate you, you know."

"Pssht. That's a lie and you know it. Shouldn't even bother when you suck at lying as bad as you do, anyway." Mizuho shook her head, collected her brother's plate and dumped it in the sink. "A blind old crippled _deaf guy_ could have figured out you were hurting. 'Course I'm gonna notice. And I can tell when you skipped a dose, too. Idiot."

Keigo mumbled something under his breath. Mizuho rolled her eyes. "Whatever. We're not dumb, Keigo; everybody knows you skip whenever you think you can get away with it. I know every trick in the book – I taught you myself, didn't I? You can't fool me. You never could."

"You know I don't like painkillers, neechan."

Sitting back down, Mizuho poked his good shoulder roughly. "Really? And all this time I thought you were best friends." Keigo growled at her sarcastic tone, but she waved him off with a smirk. "Can't say I blame you, but the doctor prescribed them for a reason. Besides, you're really bitchy when you're hurt. It's annoying. And you can't be like that when you go back to school tomorrow."

"S'not my fault," Keigo retorted miserably. "I don't do it on purpose."

"I know," his sister said, her tone a little softer. "I know. But listen – maybe you ought to start thinking ahead from now on. This crap happens like, all the time."

"Neechan—"

"No. Listen, hear me out." She raised a finger. "I never thought I'd be the one saying this to you, but I'm sick of this shit, Keigo. I ought to be coming home to find Dad giving you this manly speech so I can point and laugh at you; instead, I'm the one has to give you the manly speech. It pisses me off."

"Manly... _what_? What the hell are you talking about?"

Mizuho growled. "I'm saying there's nothing anybody can do to get that jerk off your back, and if anyone tried, you'd just end up being an even bigger target. If you can't avoid the retards, you're just going to have to learn how to take them out by yourself. Unless you wanna spend the rest of your high school life in the hospital or doped up on painkillers."

Keigo gave her a blank stare. "You," he said, "are insane."

"Oh please," she retorted. "I already said you can't fool me. You know how to block and dodge; I've seen you do it. It's not like you're that much of a pushover, either." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you make such a big deal out of this stuff. Self-defence doesn't equate to killing anybody."

"Ch'."

Mizuho hmphed at her brother's disbelieving stare. "Geeze, serious much?" she muttered. "Mom used to do _Muay Thai_ and she never killed anyone. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you can't fight because of _Kimiko_?"

The moment that name left his sister's lips, Keigo's face twisted horribly. His ears went red and, as he turned to Mizuho, he bared his teeth. "Don't say that!" he snapped.

"I'll say what I want," she countered, "Especially if it's true. The only reason you don't fight back is because you're scared of ending up like Kimiko."

"Not true!" he snarled.

"It is so true!" Mizuho shouted, finally losing her patience. "It's her fault that Mom never could bring herself to teach you self-defence, or send you to the dojo, even though she knows what's going on – what's been going on your whole freakin' life!" She leaned forward. "You think that fighting is bad because you saw what Kimiko did to Yūdai and Osamu-jii! Damn it, Keigo, there's a difference between this and that – it's called _abuse_."

Yep, she definitely hit a sore spot. Mizuho was, as a general rule, quite proud of the multitude of ways she could torture her brother; this was something entirely different though, and she wasn't at all proud of herself for it. But at the same time, how else was she to get her point across? Keigo could be as stubborn as any of them, particularly when it came to violence. That was the main reason she picked on him as much as she did – trying to get him to grow a pair of balls and stand up for himself was harder than she thought it should have been.

When he didn't respond, Mizuho huffed. "Kimiko is an enormous turd, _duh_. Osamu-jii didn't divorce her for being a super-considerate woman and you know it. She's a horrible, backwards bitch _and_ she nearly killed you. You're not like her, you never will be, and if you think _I'd_ let that drunken sow taint you – think again."

"I'm gonna go for a jog." Keigo announced suddenly, thrusting himself up and out of the chair with an air of finality he rarely, if ever displayed. The teen's face was closed, refusing to look his sister in the eye as he silently exited the room.

Mizuho swore under her breath as the door slammed shut, followed by the low, questioning mutters of Ikkaku and Yumichika from the next room. Dragging the palm of her hand down her face in resignation as the soft footsteps of their guests headed her way, she quashed the all-too-familiar raging ball of sisterly fury back down into her gut for a later date.

This whole mess was Kimiko's fault.

* * *

Keigo couldn't help but to wonder if he smelled as bad as he suspected he did.

He also couldn't help wondering if Ichigo ever had this problem. Surely he had to, Keigo thought; the redhead worked out and spent so much time keeping fit that he was practically a walking, talking sweat-bag. There was absolutely _no way_ that B.O. wasn't on Ichigo's private list of lifelong enemies.

Plucking disgustedly at the hem of his heavily-doused-in-bodily-secretions t-shirt, Keigo put as much effort as he dared into ignoring the open stares he happened to be recieving from a gaggle of women across the street. He could feel his toes squelching somewhat from inside his sneakers, and wondered if he was the only person in the whole world whose feet sweat _this_ much.

Until he started jogging, he hadn't even known that feet _could_ sweat.

It was disgusting.

_How does Ichigo __**do**__ this?_ He thought, just a little petulantly.

It had occurred to him, once – back when he'd first started physiotherapy, and realized that the whole ordeal was likely going to be far more difficult than he originally anticipated – that he could probably call off the whole thing without too much fuss. He had, in fact, seriously considered it; jolted awake at three in the morning with leg cramps so severe he'd nearly screamed, Keigo would have done anything to stop the pain.

But even then, he'd known better. And he knew that he'd already fought hard to get where he was; contending with his mother and her tendency to worry about him (being the baby of the family had its perks, along with its own unique set of drawbacks), it had been hard enough to convince her that letting him go for short jogs was in his best interest. He wasn't ready, she'd said; he wasn't even done therapy!

Keigo had thought otherwise and told her as much.

He'd thought otherwise for some time now, although the reasons behind that were vastly different from the ones that had finally pushed him into deciding, once and for all, that it was time for him to get off his ass and _change_. A part of him was grateful to Ichigo, because really, it _was_ his fault; another, smaller part of him wanted to throttle the redhead for what he'd done.

Keigo would have found himself in a stalemate – or worse, disobeying his mother – if Mizuho hadn't somehow sensed his need and confronted their mother on his behalf. The teen hadn't been privy to the argument but he knew it must have been spectacular; a good three hours were spent in the guest bedroom with his father (who'd whisked him away the instant Keigo walked in the door), conversing in low tones as they waited for the Asano women to calm down.

It had been a grueling, terrible three hours for the both of them.

Though his sister no longer accompanied him on his outings (a reasonable enough price to pay for the freedom to do as he pleased, at least until he was in better shape), Keigo himself kept going, sometimes taking the shelter dogs with him when he wasn't up for a lone trek. He had had enough time to think and ponder the meaning of life, so to speak... although he had to admit, Mizuho always seemed to know when he wanted human company, as she had the tendency to ambush him when least expected.

He thought that, at first, his mother had been right. At the least he figured his reasons were selfish, if not completely stupid. He remembered that saying – hindsight is twenty-twenty – and didn't understand it for the longest time. Now he did and it made him feel like a classic fool. How could he have been so stupid and blind?

Keigo could accept that he'd been selfish. What he couldn't accept was the idea that he would be dumb enough to continue being that way, how he almost – and might still – give up simply because it might be hard for him. What kind of brother would he be then? What kind of –

_I'm having my cooldown now,_ Keigo told himself with a sigh. _Today's set is over. I'm going to go home, and when I get home I'm going to have a long, hot shower so I don't reek. And then I'm going to help neechan with supper, like dad asked. It will be a wicked supper fit for kings, and I'm gonna pig out._

His stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly.

_Yeah, yeah._ Keigo knew that after showering, and supper, he would likely be regretting his impromptu, anger-inspired decision to go jogging. Maybe he wasn't as bad off as he thought he'd been – or that his mom had gone overboard, like usual – but that didn't change the fact that his wrist and shoulder were still not completely healed. Or that his hip continued to ache, its dull throb waking him on rainy nights. _'Least I didn't need another round of therapy on it._

It was kind-of funny, he had to admit; he could probably just ask Ichigo or Sado or, hell, even Ikkaku to teach him self-defence _for free_ instead of spending money on a dojo. He then wondered if his mother would even consider "shinigami" to be a legitimate profession, and whether or not she would demand references.

Trying to imagine Ikkaku's reaction to _that_ only made him snort so hard he tripped mid-step.

With his ears turning bright red at the sudden slip, Keigo rounded a corner and out of sight of the ogling women across the road.

Honestly, they were all old enough to be his _mom_.

_Gross_.

* * *

_This isn't right._

The headlights were all too bright, cutting through the curtain of rain with a surprising amount of violence, temporarily blinding him. Closing his eyes didn't help; he could still see them on the dark of his eyelids. He could still smell the alcohol, and hear the squealing of tires.

_Let me out_, he tried to insist, but his mouth wouldn't move.

A red blob zipped by – _was that a stop sign?_ – and he felt his stomach turn. He felt more than heard the clap of thunder as it rattled his bones, and to him, for the briefest of moments, he swore that someone had begun to laugh. It was the type of laugh you never forgot, and he knew—

Somebody was screaming, and the windshield broke into a thousand gleaming, reflective shards. They cut into his face as a horrendous pressure bore down on his hip. Suddenly, he knew that nobody was screaming – except for him, maybe – and that what he heard was really the sound of metal against metal as the car flipped.

With a wicked snap, his head bashed off the dashboard before he was thrown back.

_Crap_, was the last coherent thought Keigo had. Then he blacked out.

When he woke, he was still in the car.

_Not right... something's... this isn't right._

Trying to move proved impossible; for some reason his arms refused to cooperate, and his legs seemed glued in place. The best he could manage was turning his head, which he immediately wished he hadn't done because that was when he realized that the engine was on fire.

"This," he muttered weakly, "is fucked up."

And it certainly wasn't how he remembered, either. Huffing through his nose, Keigo found he had to squint; he knew this wasn't how it had been. He hadn't woken up until he was already in the hospital, his father telling him that he'd been pulled from the car, unconscious, by a shopkeeper and his assistant. At no point, Masaru had said, did Keigo become responsive or alert – despite having been prodded.

_So I'm dreaming._

He had dreamed about the accident before. Sometimes he woke up screaming, but usually not. It wasn't abnormal, in his experience, to have nightmares about it. Hell, he'd almost _died_; he was _allowed_ to have nightmares about it. Right?

"'hayo, Kei-chan."

A small, delicate-looking pair of hands appeared, clinging to passenger door's broken window frame and Keigo felt bile rise in the back of his throat. The hands were dirty, he saw, with what looked like scraps of torn skin under the nails.

_Not normal,_ he thought, with a strange feeling of trepidation. _Definitely not normal._

"Kei-chan, did you know?" Big eyes peered at him, and he might have thought they were the curious type if they didn't seem so... dead. "Did you?"

_Don't answer!_ A small voice in the back of his mind shrieked in abrupt panic. _For god's sake, don't answer it!_

"I see you!" she whispered.

_This,_ Keigo thought as the car exploded into black smoke, fire, and a little girl with huge, wicked fangs bearing down on his face, _is probably neechan's fault. Somehow._

When he woke up, he was screaming.

It took him several seconds to realize that his father was shouting at him a mere inch or so from his face, and that he also happened to be perched on the teen's chest, pinning Keigo's wrists above his head. He could see his mother by the door, hands clapped over her mouth; Mizuho had thrown herself across his legs to stop him from thrashing.

"Holy _shit!_" Keigo gasped, chest heaving as he looked to his father's pale face. "S-sorry! Sorry."

Masaru eyed his son cautiously. "Are you quite finished?"

"Y-yes, sir. Sorry."

Both his father and sister carefully released him, allowing Keigo to sit up – and, subsequently, discover that he'd somehow managed to soak himself _and_ his bed with sweat. He grimaced, flapping his wrists uselessly in a disgusted gesture – grimacing again as that turned out to be a bad idea when his wrist flared painfully to life. "Ugh."

"I'll put on some tea," said his mother, before exiting quietly.

Masaru grunted. "Come on," he said. He looped his arm around Keigo's shoulder before pulling the teen to his feet. To his credit, he didn't mention the state of his son's clothes (or bed), merely walking Keigo out into the kitchen while Mizuho began hauling her brother's soaked sheets off the bed.

"I'm sorry," Keigo said again as he seated himself.

"Whatever for, dear?" Kazue asked mildly.

Keigo flushed. "Well... _that_."

Masaru shook his head, exasperation clear in his face as his son watched him from the corner of his eye. Kazue sighed. "You are much like your father," she said gently. "Neither of you react well to certain types of medicine."

Night terrors, Keigo remembered. Painkillers had the tendency to cause them in both himself and his father. He could only recall a few occasions where he'd personally witnessed his father in the throes of of one, and it had not been a pleasant experience.

"It's only a few days more," Masaru spoke up. "It will pass, as it always does."

"Yeah." He sighed, wrapping his hands around the warm cup of tea his mother placed before him. It was warm, comforting. He dredged up a smile. "Thanks."

"Oh, what do _you_ want?" the elder abruptly snapped, and Keigo looked back over his shoulder to see Ikkaku and Yumichika lurking in the doorway, confused and – perhaps – a bit concerned. Masaru glared daggers at them. "There's nothing to see here; go back to sleep, or use the toilet, or something."

Ikkaku seemed to think twice about glaring back, once he felt Yumichika's hand on his shoulder. He looked to Keigo, briefly, as if assessing the boy's health. Keigo was tired but for the sake of peace he smiled, gestured to his father and rolled his eyes a bit. When Ikkaku hesitated, he had to wonder just how shitty he must have looked right then; then it occurred to him that the two shinigami must have heard _everything_.

He'd scared his parents and sister pretty badly, he knew. Worse than usual, if his father's reaction was anything to go by. To them, the whole commotion must have sounded downright awful.

_Crap._

Masaru was about to shout at them again, but Ikkaku turned away, and the two retreated back to the spare mattresses set out for them by Mizuho. His father grunted, turning to his own tea just as Mizuho took her place at the table. Keigo frowned.

"You're not going back to bed?"

"After that? Not a chance." His sister sniffed.

"Certainly not." Kazue sat down as well, handing a cup to Mizuho. "We can put a movie on if you like, and despite the hour, I'll even permit you to make popcorn. Your father and I aren't too old to – what is it? – ah, _party_, you know."

Keigo groaned, "_Mom_..."

"Wife," Masaru warned.

"Well, we're not," she said crisply. "Don't any of you argue with me; it may be a school night but I know you all better than to try sending you back to bed now."

* * *

_TBC..._

_Apologies for the long wait on updating. IRL stuff happened that is uncomfortable to get into, and may delay further updates. I will continue to write and update this as much as I can._

_If there's any spelling errors, PLEASE let me know! "My spellcheck doesn't work" is hardly an excuse, I've already edited this chapter a hundred times for flow and continuity purposes so it fits with everything else I've written... quite frankly, I'm sick of editing! RAWR._

_Suggestions (especially on how to improve the writing or depiction of certain characters), comments, crits, all welcome._


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